Chapter 4

The words on the screen blurred through my tears. "Local Heiress' s Troubled Past Revealed: A History of Hysteria and Assault." My name. My story. Twisted and laid bare for public consumption.

The memory, buried for so long, clawed its way to the surface. The darkness, the fear, the feeling of being small and helpless. I had only ever told Ethan, trusting him with the most fragile part of my soul during our sessions. He had used it. He had given my pain to Tiffany as another weapon to use against me.

A violent tremor shook my body. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but I was shattering.

I had to find him. I had to know why.

I scrambled to my feet and ran, ignoring the fire in my ribs and the rain plastering my hair to my face. I ran all the way to Tiffany' s upcoming fashion show venue, knowing he would be there, overseeing the final preparations.

I found them in the main hall. Tiffany was preening in front of a mirror, while Ethan stood by, watching her with that same look of blind adoration.

"Ethan!" My voice was a raw, broken cry.

He turned, his face tightening with annoyance when he saw me.

"You," I gasped, holding up my phone. "You did this. You told her."

He glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable. Then he looked at me, his eyes cold and dismissive.

"Chloe, you' re being hysterical," he said calmly. "You can' t just go around making these wild accusations."

Hysterical. The word was a slap. The same word the headline used.

"I trusted you!" I screamed, the sound echoing in the vast, empty hall. "It was my secret! I gave it to you, and you fed it to her! You let her use it to destroy me!"

Tiffany sauntered over, a smug look on her face. "Oh, darling, don' t be so dramatic. Everyone has a little trauma. You' re just not strong enough to handle yours."

"You' re a monster," I whispered, looking from her to Ethan.

Ethan' s jaw tightened. He took a step towards me. "That' s enough, Chloe. You' re embarrassing yourself. Go home and calm down."

The casual cruelty in his voice was the final blow. He truly saw me as nothing more than an inconvenience, a hysterical woman making a scene.

A flicker of something-maybe guilt-crossed his face for a split second. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but it was too late.

I backed away, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a vast, cold emptiness. I turned and walked away, not back to the house, but to my own small, rented room I' d been keeping for emergencies.

I locked the door and slid to the floor. I didn' t eat. I didn' t sleep. I just sat there in the dark, staring at the wall, as the world I once knew crumbled to dust around me. The pain was too big, too deep. It was everything.